Dead Letters
by MysticDawn5
Summary: "I hope, somehow, that this will end up in my loved ones' hands. My family, my friends... and you. You most of all. Because I feel like I never had the chance to tell you everything I always wanted to tell you." / Alternate Universe /


**Dead Letters**

**By Mystic Dawn**

* * *

_"A dead letter is a letter that has never been delivered_  
_because the person to whom it was written cannot be found,_  
_and it also cannot be returned to the one who wrote it."_

From the album_ Dead Letters_ by The Rasmus

* * *

_I'm going to die._

_I don't know how many hours I have left. All I know is that, inevitably, my air will run out, and I will die._

_It's strange, the way your life seems to play inside your mind when you know you are near your end. I'd always thought that it was only a clever/poetic saying used in books and films._

_But now I know better._

_I don't even know why I'm trying to shape my feelings into words right now. I suppose I just don't want to sit around and do nothing... just waiting for it to end. I sent a distress signal, but it's going to be hours before they locate me. And by then, it will be too late. I just feel like I have to do_something.

_I hope, somehow, that this will end up in my loved ones' hands. My family, my friends... and you. You most of all. Because I feel like I never had the chance to tell you everything I always wanted to tell you._

_I was born into a rich family. I never knew who my father was. My mother never wanted to mention him. Neither did my older sister, who had the chance to meet him. All I know is that he has blue eyes like my sister and black hair like her and I. But I don't know how he really looks like, how he's like, or if he's even still alive, for the matter. All I know is his name, which we've kept, for reasons I don't know: Daidouji. Odd how we never talk about him, and yet we consider his name ours._

_When I was little, I met someone whom I immediately loved with all my heart. Her name is Sakura. We became best friends, and we still are best friends, even now, when we both lead our separate lives. But what she didn't know, as no one else did, was that I loved her more than as "just a friend." But I was content for nothing to happen between us. What mattered to me, and still does, is her happiness. I wasn't selfish enough to ask of her something that she couldn't give. As long as Sakura was happy, I was happy._

_But as I grew older, I came to realize that it wasn't enough. Sakura and Syaoran fell in love with each other, and though I was deliriously happy for their sake, I couldn't help but feel that I was missing something. I wasn't as happy as I used to be. It wasn't jealousy. I just wasn't as blissful as I was when I was younger._

_The years passed, and we grew up. We went to university. We found jobs. We became independent. I especially wanted to become independent because I didn't want to rely on my family's wealth to make a living._

_Sakura was always there for me, but there were times when she wouldn't be around. She would be busy with her own life. I didn't mind. Every person needs their space now and then, to try to escape from the monotony of their lives. I needed it, too._

_I still remember that day. It was raining heavily, dark clouds hiding the sun's rays and warmth. I hadn't thought of taking an umbrella with me to work that morning because the sky had been clear, so my walk home would prove very wet indeed._

_As I was splashing through the rain, huddling in my jacket for warmth and feeling downright miserable, someone put an umbrella over my head. It took me a few moments to realize that I wasn't being drenched anymore, and I came to a full stop to see who was shielding me._

_And that's how I met Kurogane._

_Although his expression wasn't the friendliest in the world, more so enhanced when he grunted that I should get a move-on, the mere fact that he was shielding me from the rain was a startling contrast, and it made me suspect that what he displayed for the world and what he really felt were two entirely different matters._

_He walked me home that day, just making small talk. Or, rather, I was the one who did most of the talking. He would either grunt or murmur nonchalantly. It brings a small smile to my face now that I remember it._

_When we reached the front door, I told him my name. After a small pause, he told me his in return. I didn't know why, but there was something about him that was intriguing. I wanted to see him again, but I was too shy to ask anything more._

"_Will I see you again?" I finally found the courage to say after he had already walked down to the front gate._

_He turned, arched an eyebrow, and shrugged. "Who knows?"_

_The next day, I saw him again. He was standing at the same spot where we first met. All he did was merely walk me home again, even if this time it wasn't raining. He looked as if he didn't know why he had come to see me again. But I was glad that he did._

_This strange pattern went on for several more days. Everyday, I would meet with Kurogane, and he would walk me home. We just enjoyed each other's company without exchanging many words. I think we both felt that words were unnecessary. But one day, when we had stopped before my house, he finally asked me something, something I had never expected he would ever say._

"_Would you pose for me?"_

_It turned out his hobby was painting. It certainly hadn't appeared so by his attitude and demeanor, but as I rightly suspected, he was not someone to be judged by his appearance._

_He took me to his flat the next day and showed me some of his works. They were beautiful—there was no other way to describe them—but they seemed to lack something I couldn't quite put my finger on._

"_I hope to rectify that," was what he said._

_So, everyday, after work, instead of Kurogane coming to walk me home, I would go to his flat and pose for him. I had my long hair loose, I wore a white summer dress, and a deep blue-green shawl around my shoulders. We would both sit in mere silence together for hours on end. He would paint while I tried to retain my posture. Somehow, I felt that just being with each other like this was more intimate than any conversation we might have shared. It was as if we had managed to develop a form of communication that was no longer based on speech._

_After several weeks, the afternoon he no longer needed me to pose for him had finally come. He hadn't wanted me to see the painting unfinished, so I was quite curious to see the result. I remember how he had led me to it and told me to close my eyes before uncovering it._

_When my eyes fell upon it, I think I might have gasped. He had painted me underwater, surrounded by sea creatures, like an ancient sea nymph of legend; a Nereid, not a mermaid. I suppose he had been inspired to make this painting by my profession: that of a marine biologist._

"_Now close your eyes and tell me what you_really_see," he then told me._

_I complied and told him that when I closed my eyes, I felt like I really_was_underwater. I could feel the way the water flowed, and the way my hair spread around me... He had managed to make the painting so lifelike that when you saw it, you felt as if you were actually_ living_it. It was, without a doubt, the best painting he had ever made._

_The way he looked at me when I said those words is something I'll never forget. He looked so grateful, and yet so sad, so strong, and so vulnerable all at the same time. It was almost unsettling and it made me stutter something about not being as beautiful as he had depicted me._

_His lips had then quirked into that strange, lopsided smile of his. "I guess it's because that's the way I see you," he said. "You're my muse. I've finally found a reason to paint again because of you."_

_I was so stunned by his words that I didn't even respond immediately when he suddenly leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine. It was the first time that anyone had ever kissed me, and I think he realized it, which might explain why he didn't go any further. Up until then, I had never considered the possibility of ever being with anyone, but here he was, kissing me, and it made me feel things I'd never dreamed existed._

_Since then, I would always find excuses to come and visit him at his flat, even if he didn't need me to pose for any more paintings of his. I even shared my own hobby of filming and designing clothes with him. He didn't seem to enjoy himself much whenever I'd make him wear something I'd made for him, but he'd put up with it in his own way. Because that's just how Kurogane is._

_Months passed in blissful happiness. I posed a bit more for him here and there, just as I would make him wear my designs. And when we first made love he was so gentle and kind that it was almost hard to believe that this gruff, almost blatant and uncouth man could hide such tenderness and affection inside of him._

_It was on one such occasion, when the moon spilled through the window and I lay contentedly in his arms, that he suddenly looked down at me, crimson eyes burning, and whispered in the darkness, "Marry me."_

_I remember how surprised I had felt at such an unexpected proposal, which might have sounded downright rude to someone who didn't know Kurogane well. He looked almost as surprised, as if he couldn't believe what he had just said. By then, we had known each other for nearly a year. It was an almost terrifying prospect, and I was at a loss at my own feelings._

_But when I looked back up into his eyes, I just knew that I wanted nothing more than to be with him as much as he wanted to be with me. And I finally realized what the phrase, "you've made me the happiest girl in the world," so often used in movies meant. So I said yes._

_He painted me again that night, with the moon "bringing out my snow-white skin," as he had said. It was strange, the way he talked about art; so poetic and earnest, while most of the time he kept his feelings to himself. But now, around me, he was finally allowing himself to open up. For my sake, I now realize. Just to help me feel his love all the more._

_But I already loved you, Kurogane. I'm not sure how or when it happened, but I love you with all my heart. I only wish I'd told you sooner. Even though I know you know how I feel for you, I never told you. I never said it myself. And I never even managed to tell you that you were going to be a father..._

_I'm with child. I found out a few days ago, and I was planning to tell you after the expedition. But now... now I'm here, trapped, hundreds of miles underwater, without any way to escape. It's even getting harder to breathe. I can feel the difference now. I'm afraid my time is almost up._

_I'm so sorry, Kurogane. I can't pretend to be brave anymore. I'm not strong enough to make it. I'm not going to be saved. I'm going to die here, without you by my side. We... we could have been so happy together. We would have become parents. We would have gotten married. And we would have been together._

_Goodbye, my love. I hope, someday, we will meet again._

—

Kurogane wiped his hands on a rag and tilted his chin back to get a different perspective on his latest work. Yes, the colors blended together harmoniously, just as he had expected them to. He was sure that Tomoyo would like his painting of the sunset. He hoped it would only be a few more days until she returned from that underwater expedition she'd been babbling about for weeks. He didn't want to admit it, but he missed her.

He narrowed his eyes slightly as he peered at the horizon. It could use a bit more red. It would set off the purple-toned clouds more than before. She was very fond of the color purple. It matched her eyes, after all.

He mixed the paints together for some time until he had achieved the shade he desired. He dipped the fine paintbrush in it and ever so slightly added the fine streaks upon the violet-blue clouds, effectively highlighting them.

As he worked, the television in the corner played on, providing satisfactory background noise. He liked to have the television on, even when he was ignoring it. He didn't feel like the silence pressed in on him like that whenever he was alone.

There was a sudden chage in the music at that point; the sound that signaled an emergency news report. He didn't really pay any attention to it as he continued to concentrate upon his painting, but he couldn't help but pause when he heard the reporter's words.

"_...and although the submarine had sent a distress signal, it was several hours later before they managed to locate it. The young marine biologist in question was found dead from lack of oxygen, identified by her associates back at headquarters as Tomoyo Daidouji..."_

Kurogane didn't hear the rest of the report simply because his ears had ceased to function. He merely remainded sitting there, frozen, rooted to the spot. He didn't even notice that his paintbrush had dropped to the floor. Numb disbelief rippled through him. He couldn't have heard right... he just couldn't have...

It was some time before he stirred back to life. The phone was ringing. Belatedly, he got up to answer it. "...Hello?"

There was silence on the other line before he heard a familiar voice. _"It's me... Fay."_ However, unlike the usual cheerfulness Fay always exhibited, his voice was unusually somber. _"...I'm afraid I have some bad news."_

Kurogane swallowed. "Tomoyo...?"

"_Oh,"_ Fay said quietly. _"So you heard..."_

Kurogane exhaled wearily. "I... heard... something... on the news..." His voice cracked slightly. "I just can't... believe it..."

"_Did you hear the entire report?"_ he asked gently.

"No... I couldn't... I... my hearing just... stopped..."

There was another moment of silence. _"Tomoyo-chan's family was informed about what happened before the actual report. And... um..."_ Kurogane clearly heard his old friend swallow on the other line._"...the wake has been scheduled for tomorrow and... the funeral's going to be the day after."_

"Oh..." Kurogane could hardly speak due to the obtrusion in his throat. _So soon?_ he thought helplessly. "Okay..."

"_I'll come and pick you up tomorrow morning."_ There was another pause. _"Please, take care."_

And with that, Fay hung up, leaving Kurogane feeling even more dazed than before. For Fay, the most out-going, frivolous and optimistic person he knew, to have been reduced to such a subdued and quiet remnant of his former self... then there was no doubt that Tomoyo truly was...

After his initial shock and numbness finally came the pain and grief. A burning sensation began to build up in his eyes. He sagged against the wall, trembling, hot tears streaming down his cheeks. With a howl of despair, he pounded his fist against the wall.

She was gone. She was really gone.

—

Kurogane didn't enjoy the wake. He hadn't brought a gift for Tomoyo's family, nor was he properly dressed in a black suit and tie. The other guests, few as they were, didn't talk to him much. Only Sakura and a few others had offered him their condolences. The priest read from a sutra for hours, and when he had finished, Tomoyo's mother and sister offered incense three times to the incense urn in front of her body. The mere fact that she was just lying there, looking so at peace, was what unnerved him the most. He didn't stay afterward for the vigil, even if Kendappa had allowed him to when originally only the closest relatives were allowed to. He just couldn't.

The funeral took place the next day at the hometown cemetery. Only immediate relatives and close friends had attended, just like at the wake. Kurogane wished that he hadn't come. He wasn't sure if he would be able to control his feelings for long. Practically everyone around him was crying. He didn't. He simply couldn't. By now, his grief was beyond tears.

After the priest had finished chanting from another sutra, had given Tomoyo a kaimyō, and more incense had been offered, the guests were allowed to bid her a last farewell and leave her flowers in her casket before she was to be cremated. Kurogane hung in the background, unsure if he wanted to see her again like at the wake, so pale and motionless, subsequently ending up last to bid farewell.

It looked like Tomoyo was only in a deep sleep. Her skin was paler than normal, but her expression was restive, almost as if she were at peace. He placed one sole violet-colored lily upon her joined hands, recalling with a faint smile that they were her favorite kind of flowers. He felt his chest tighten as he suddenly realized that he had never told her how much he loved her.

He forced himself to swallow back the sudden cry of despair ripping at his throat. He slowly sank to his knees in the grass beside the casket, his emotions almost overwhelming him. He reached out and gently stroked her hair. "I'm sorry," he croaked, choking back a sob. "I'm so sorry..." One single tear cascaded down and fell upon her cheek. He wiped furiously at his eyes. "I love you, Tomoyo," he whispered softly. "And I always will." He touched his fingertips to his lips and then pressed them gently upon her cold lips in a gesture of farewell.

He slowly got to his feet, then turned, away from the funeral, away from the coming cremation, away from everything that caused him so much pain. He didn't want to stay a minute longer. He just couldn't stand feeling so helpless anymore.

At the edge of the cemetery, he looked back over his shoulder, his eyes falling upon the casket that was about to be sealed for cremation. Was it a trick of the light, or did Tomoyo seem to be smiling?

—

It was several weeks later when, one afternoon, Kurogane's doorbell rang. He slowly got up from his stool, turning his back on the canvas to open the door.

With a polite nod, Fay stepped inside. His blue eyes drifted toward the empty canvas. "Still haven't started painting again?" he asked sadly.

Kurogane crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. "I can't," he whispered.

Fay walked across the room to look at the rest of Kurogane's paintings lined across the walls. Most of them depicted a woman with snow-white skin and amethyst eyes. "You must miss her a lot," he murmured quietly.

That was something of a gross understatement, but Kurogane didn't bother to correct him.

"I, uh... I know this is probably a bad time to ask..." the blond man began carefully. "But did you ever sit down to watch one of those reports about... her death?"

Kurogane felt a ripple of anger, but merely shook her head in answer.

"Then I'm right to suppose you have no idea about her letter, do you?"

Kurogane looked up at him sharply. "What letter?" he demanded.

"I'm surprised you didn't hear about it. The media got their hands on it first and went wild. Not even her family knew that such a letter existed until a reporter made an exclusive of it and read it out loud to all of Japan..." Fay shook his head. "It was something like a personal biography she had written in her last moments. She mostly talked about you. It was... very touching." He turned his face away to wipe at his eyes.

The anger inside of Kurogane no longer boiled—it seethed. _How dare they?_ he thought furiously. _How dare they read something so private to the entire country? Don't they have any respect?_

"Kendappa-san finally managed to get her hands on it," Fay continued, avoiding eye-contact with him. "She had to pay a lot to get it back." He paused for several moments. "We think you should keep it." He pulled out an envelope from inside of his coat and handed it to him. "It was originally addressed to you, obviously. And there are some things you should know..."

Kurogane stared at the beige-colored envelope for a long moment before taking it from him. He opened it and extracted several sheets of paper. He looked down at the writing. He would have thought it was a sick joke if he hadn't recognized the letters—it was definitely Tomoyo's handwriting.

"I'll take my leave now," Fay said softly, heading toward the door. "Please... just call me if you need anything."

Kurogane nodded absently, his eyes not looking up from his reading. Fay closed the door behind him so gently that Kurogane didn't even hear it_click_—not that he would have noticed it.

It was a long time before Kurogane finally looked up, swallowing hard. He didn't even bother to wipe away his tears. It was... he couldn't explain what he was feeling right now. It was as if he were both happy and sad at the same time. Beforehand, he had felt as if he had lost his connection with Tomoyo ever since he had heard about what happened on the news, whereas now he felt as if he had regained it, as if she wasn't so far away and unreachable anymore.

His eyes drifted down again to the last sentence. "_I hope, someday, we will meet again."_ And in his heart he knew he would someday. He would meet her again, and their unborn child.

That night was the first night in weeks he slept soundly.

—

"What a fantastic painting!"

"I wonder what he had in mind when he made it."

"Beats me."

Glasses chimed and chatter filled the air at the art exhibition. It was an excuse for the rich to boast about their fortunes and the poor to mingle with those of high class. However, the exhibition was anything but dull. Usually, most of the depicted paintings would be of such bizarre themes or low-quality work that the artist would never be the center of attention. But this time was different. Instead of the usual social gossip and political discussions, everyone's attention was centered upon each work of art.

A tall man stood in the corner of the room, sipping from a glass of red wine as his eyes scanned the crowd. His face was faintly lined, and he had a few gray streaks in his unruly black hair, but his build was still strong, a remnant of his past youth.

A shorter man with silver-blond hair and merry blue eyes approached him. "I have to admit," he said, pausing to sip from his own wineglass. "You've got most of these old aristocrats wondering whether they brought enough cash to buy anything."

The taller man snorted faintly. "I don't intend to sell anything."

The second shook his head, causing his shoulder-length silver-blond hair to wave with the movement. "That's the kind of attitude that got you in this mess in the first place."

"You're the only one to blame for that," he retorted.

The blond smiled faintly. "I suppose," he murmured. "It was about time you held an exhibition anyway."

"I had to or else you'd have kept ranting at me to do so for another twenty years."

"Has it been so long already?" the blond asked wistfully. His eyes drifted to the painting beside them. "I think this one is your best," he said softly.

The artist's crimson eyes momentarily flickered to the underwater figure displayed in the painting. Something seemed to flash in his eyes, if only for a moment, then he focused his gaze back upon his friend. "I guess," he shrugged.

"Although the other painting where she's half-naked in the moonlight is also very pretty," the blond added with a roguish grin.

"Pervert," the other snorted fondly.

The blond opened his mouth to retort, but was interrupted by a young woman who nervously cleared her throat, as if to ask something. Another woman accompanied her, and they were both dressed in frilly dresses, awash in heavy perfume.

"E-excuse me, sir," she stammered in a high-pitched voice. "But are you the one who made all these paintings?"

The red-eyed man nodded.

"My older sister and I"—she ignored the fact that her companion elbowed her at this point—"were wondering who the woman with the purple eyes is. She's almost in every painting."

"We were just curious, that's all," the other added in a rush. "She's very beautiful."

The man's crimson eyes drifted toward the underwater figure in the painting again. He seemed to be staring at something beyond it, however, as if he were looking at something that only he could see. "She's the reason I am what I am today," he finally said. He offered no other explanation and took another sip of his wine as the blond gently ushered the two babbling young women away.

_Soon, Tomoyo_, he thought, old memories swirling in his mind as he traced the painting's border with a forefinger. _We will definitely meet again._


End file.
